Born of Fire
by Clumsy Owl
Summary: As a young boy, Ichigo watched as his home village burned. When the opportunity arises, he seizes the chance to take revenge. Add a power-hungry king, bored shape-shifter, and a troublesome brother, and you have an epic adventure with a bit of love. Please read and review! This is a long story, and a grimmichi. All I ask is for patience and a chance (and forgiveness for mistakes).
1. Chapter 1

**A.N. Hey. Ummm… thank you for checking this story out. This is my first published story fan fiction, as the rest I know I will abandon before they get done, or are simply bad. I'm not that great at writing and am unafraid to admit that, so please, be patient. Thanks!**

**Disclaimer: I don't think anyone this site owns Bleach, so why is this necessary?**

**Warnings: Ermm… ok there will be angst, umm… sexual themes, and yaoi in later chapters, but no sex… sorry, guys. If you want that stuff, there are plenty other places where you can read it. I'm more of a story-kind of person, so…yeah.**

* * *

_"Hey, Shiro?"_

_"Yeah?"_

_"Do you smell something?"_

_"No. Why? What do you smell?"_

_"I don't know." There was a scream in the distance. Both boys, almost identical in appearance, yet complete opposites, turned to the source, eyes wide._

_"What-?"_

_"Shiro!"_

* * *

Ichigo Kurosaki moved with a quick grace most dancers would be insanely jealous of, as he dodged attack after attack from his opponent. The orangette never lifted his sword to try and block any of the blows coming his way, causing the crowd around him was only wound up further by his play. That's really all this was to Ichigo: play. The tournament meant next to nothing to him. He was bored and wanted to find someone new to spar with. The purse was just a bonus, something that only helped put food in his belly at times of need. Ok, there was the issue of a bet, but other than that, this tournament was a waste of his time.

And so the boy with the odd hair color danced in the sun, turning, bowing, sliding, and dipping to avoid being hit by a deadly weapon. His opponent swung his sword in skillful, yet hopeless, attempts to land a blow, sweat trickling down his face into his armor. Ichigo chuckled, confidence swelling too high for his absent teacher's approval, but stopped. The blade had gone a little too close to his right eye for comfort. _That_ certainly put him back in his place.

Ichigo scowled at the close call and minor falter. Figuring he had had enough of this game, he raised his sword in a beautiful arch that immediately halted his opponent's attack and moved under the joined blades to deliver a swift and powerful kick to the armored chest. The other man stumbled back and fell to the ground in a less than dignified manner. He lay there, trying to catch his breath from the sheer force of the blow.

The crowd erupted. Cries of joy and victory, most likely from those who bet on Ichigo, and of sorrowful anger, from whomever bet on his unknown opponent or knew his opponent personally, filled the young man's ears to the brim and he smiled at the spectators. He wasn't feeling it, though. The satisfaction he should have felt from defeating his final competitor wasn't with him.

Maybe he was getting sick?

Ichigo stopped the frown before it manifested. When was the last time he had gotten sick? Truly sick, not the kind of sick he gets from being around his brother. He couldn't remember any ailments since he was out on the streets, and he didn't want to think further back. That frown was really putting up a fight now, but Ichigo would have none of it; his smile only faltered for a moment.

Maybe he had won so many times winning wasn't a thrill anymore?

No, the tournament had never meant anything more to the man than training, it was true, but winning still should have made him proud. The purse money had at least enough to pay off his debts to the innkeeper and to Tensa and still have enough left over to put a few good meals into his belly. If nothing else, that should have him feeling a little cheerful.

Maybe it was too easy?

Ichigo thought about that for several moments as Lord Maxam, for whom this tournament was held, gave his speech about how Ichigo's victory showed he was the best in the lands and what-not. Truly it only showed he was the best of those who bothered to show up to the brat's tournament. Honestly, the lord was no older than fourteen and 'ruling' his tiny lands with an unknowing hand. If it weren't for the boy's steward, council, and uncommonly wise younger sister, his city and surrounding lands would have gone bankrupt in a matter of months. The tournament was held in honor of his one-year anniversary of ruling, and during a bad time. It was no wonder all the good opponents hadn't shown or participated.

Yup, Ichigo decided it was _definitely _because it was too easy. He should, by all rights, not have been able to _dance_ around in the final round, where supposedly the two _best_ challengers faced off—the operative word being "challengers." His first fight was more difficult.

The young lord finished his speech and sent his sister, Attilade, to present Ichigo with his prize. She walked up to him with the grace a lady was supposed to possess when born into a lord's family. Her posture and aura were stately and mature as she held the purse out to the champion, but to Ichigo, she was still a little girl. Her thin frame and willowy limbs reminded him much of his own sisters'. Her raven hair and big doe eyes were so akin to theirs that he was almost convinced that if someone had taken his sisters and combined them into one person, Lady Attilade would be it. Even her shy smile when the champion accepted the purse with a small bow brought back images. The resemblance was too strong for him to ignore, but he decided to react to the nostalgia later.

Attilade left him and he gave a word of thanks to Maxam, before leaving the arena. He just wanted to go back to the inn and collapse on his bed, surrounded by the warmth of his furs. He'd worry about the images and his debts later. Sleep was more important.

"Hey, Ichigo!" And seemingly forever out of his reach. The said man turned to face one of his best friends and occasional sparring partner. "Where are you going?"

"Home."

"No you're not. We have traditions to uphold." Ichigo sighed. He had forgotten about that. Ever since he and Renji had started participating in the tournaments or the games, they would go out to drink and find someone to take to bed or argue with. Mostly, it was Renji who found someone, while Ichigo kept to himself, listening in on conversations and the current gossip, most of which was complete garbage in his oh-so-humble opinion.

"I don't think this counts as a victory, Ren," Ichigo said with a wry smile. Renji flung an arm around his shoulders and started leading him off. "Every tier past yours was a complete bore. They should have pitted you against everyone else so we could have sparred in the championship."

"Ha! You put shame to that word, Ichi. No _championship_ match deserves to be called such when it is won by a man wearing kid gloves."

"Very true."

"But we are still going out tonight!" Renji declared with that grin of his. Ichigo gave him a slight frown before a mischievous smirk took its place, which he quickly killed, lest it ruin his game.

"Where are we going?" He asked, feigning ignorance while running a hand through his orange hair, as though in resignation.

"Senbonzakura." Ichigo was barely able to suppress the smirk trying to work its way back into existence.

"Why there? Why not Wabisuke? I heard they have great bread."

"Senbonzakura has better service."

"Meaning shorter waits?"

"Precisely."

"Hmm..." Ichigo put on a thoughtful expression. Renji glanced over at him.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing important. I was only wondering if the waiting period is truly why you want to go there," Ichigo dropped his façade to allow his smirk to finally be born. "Or if it's actually, dare I say it, a _woman_?"

Ichigo had never before seen his friend blush so much, especially when it came to women. He was a player, and had enough experience in that department to cover them both. Now Renji's face was almost the same vibrant hue as his hair at the mere mention of the girl in question.

"It's not what you think." Renji muttered. His face was turned away but his words were barely audible to the orangette.

"And why's that? C'mon. You don't think I haven't noticed you sneaking out for entire weekends at a time?"

"You probably believe I only want her to lift her skirts for me, and don't get me wrong, I wouldn't turn her down if she did, but I want so much more than that," Renji said as he tried to explain. His voice was serious as he spoke, making Ichigo listen with a sympathetic ear. "I want to hold her in my arms, listen to her talk about her life, and have her hair run between my fingers, her eyes on me when she laughs or smiles. Ichigo, when I'm around her, my heart gets all fluttery, like a thousand butterflies had suddenly awoken inside me and decided to take flight. They seem to take my heart with them and carry it to her. They drop it at her feet for her to do as she wishes with it. When I talk to her, I'd say anything to get her to smile or laugh. When she speaks, no other sound is more beautiful. Her eyes become so much brighter when we get on a topic she loves and I can ACTUALLY see the different shades of the most amazing violets. I want those eyes only on me, and I get jealous when she's with other people...I know that last part sounded bad, but I can't help it. Ichigo, I-I think she's the one."

Ichigo listened and felt a pang of sympathy for his friend. He had followed the red-head once, curiosity overpowering his respect for the other's privacy, and he knew of the girl he spoke of; the younger, rather hostile sister of Sir Byakuya. She could probably best Renji in a fight if neither of them held back. He had heard she once killed a man from ten feet away, burnt him to a crisp when she found evidence he was an assassin. Poor Renji; she wasn't the empathetic type, so the chances of her seeing that his intentions went much, much further than the bedroom were slim. He didn't know what to say.

"Ren-"

"ICHIGO! RENJI!" They stopped and swung their heads to look over their shoulders at the third member of their trio. Shuuhei was an intelligent man, who only fought when attacked first. Ichigo had always respected him for that, especially since he himself had a temper to boot. When the man caught up to them, walking alongside Renji, they resumed their journey to Senbonzakura. "How was the tournament?"

"A jest." Ichigo spared no compliments.

"Ichi won." Renji elaborated.

"Then I hope, for your sake, Ren, that you didn't have any bets going on. I don't think your small purse can handle another loss." Renji gave a sigh.

"Oh, we had a bet," Ichigo cut in, voice gleeful. "I bet that I would come out on top, and I did. Although, I would hardly call that gathering a tournament, but I'm not complaining too much; I won two favors from our red-headed friend." Shuuhei winced.

"Tough luck there, mate."

"I should have just left it at the slap bet," Renji muttered darkly. His companions chuckled at his misfortune, but Shuuhei gave him a sympathetic pat, while Ichigo, looking for all the world like a kitten with a string, began thinking about what use he might put to his prize.

"I think that might have been best," Shuuhei agreed. "Did I miss anything else?"

"Nothing of any importance."

"Lies!" Ichigo leaned forward to talk around the taller red-head, a devilish smirk playing across his face. "I beat him in the first round of the farce-of-a-tournament, and we are going to be continuing our victory-celebrating tradition at a local tavern, called Senbonzakura, specially picked by Red, here."

"Since when do we decide where we get drunk before-hand?" Shuuhei inquired.

"Since Red found himself a gi-"

"Enough!" It seemed Renji didn't want that news to be shared with Shuuhei, which sent Ichigo into a world of confusion. "Don't you dare mock me, Ichigo!" Or, maybe, Renji simply didn't like the way the new was being told.

"I wasn't mocking. I was merely conveying the information in a simple way."

"Hold on. Were you about to say what I think you were about to say?" Shuuhei's eyes went wide when Ichigo nodded. "Great gods! Renji! When were you going to tell me your heart was stolen?"

"Not stolen. Carried off by butterflies," corrected Ichigo, adding hand gestures for effect. Renji elbowed him.

"Carried off by-wow. You've got it bad, don't you? When do I get to meet the lovely lady?"

"Assuming she's there, whenever we arrive at the tavern. I want to meet her, as well. Why didn't you ever allow us to accompany you, before?"

"Because eventually, one of you would have ratted me out to the masters to save your own skins," Renji huffed. When he saw their dark-haired companion open his mouth, he quickly added, "don't even think of denying it, Shuuhei! I've known you both for six years."

Ichigo blinked. Yes, they have been known to throw each other under the horse, but that was only when they deserved it. He still didn't think that a good enough reason to keep such information from them. If he had the time, or the drive, to think of women, Ichigo was sure he would have told both of them, if only to help provide and solidify alibis.

"But I haven't done that in a month!" Shuuhei countered, as if going a month, betrayal-free, was an actual achievement.

"Oh! Wow! A month? How difficult that must have been for you. However, you can quit your griping; we're here." Just as Renji said this, a deeper-than-bone chill penetrated Ichigo's being. Barely suppressing shivers, he stepped away from Renji's arm and turned.

"Sorry, Renji. I'm not going to be able to meet your lady-friend tonight. I'm heading back to the inn." Ichigo started walking as fast as his body would carry him. He didn't hear the confused questions Renji sent his way, or the protests Shuuhei shouted after him. He was focusing on simply putting one foot in front of the other. This chill caused the level of effort it took to walk to be on par with that of pushing a boulder up a hill, it seemed. It took all of Ichigo's will to wait until he was well out of his friends' sights to show any signs of being cold.

_Gods be damned! _Ichigo thought as he stumbled along the road. _Couldn't he have waited until _after _I was sufficiently drunk or had my cloak? But no, Shiro had to choose now, the impatient bastard._

It seemed like the second most perilous journey of his life, and Ichigo couldn't have been happier to see it end. The innkeeper had let out a startled screech when the shivering man had burst through the doors, but he ignored her in favor of getting his body up the stairs to his rooms. He stumbled several times, but when he finally reached his rooms and unlocked the door, he let out a victorious, yet weak and pained, cry. To the innkeeper still on the ground level, it sounded more like a groan.

"It's about time!" a voice, laced with impatience, declared as soon as Ichigo had entered his rooms. Instead of giving the voice his usual reply, "go die," the orangette ignored it in favor of grabbing his cloak from its place by the window. "You took forever in getting away from those people you call friends. I was sure you had forgotten I was even there."

Ichigo shuttered when he felt the sun-warmed fabric of his favorite clothing article cover him from head to ankle. Instantly, he felt better. The over-bearing chill that had been stabbing at him was slowly becoming balanced by the heat of the heavy fabric.

"You couldn't have waited until I was warm?" Ichigo demanded. "Getting here was worse than that time I fell into a frozen lake, and let me tell you, that nearly killed me."

"Nope!" the voice chimed out. "Watching you suffer gives me too much joy."

"Bastard."

"If I'm a bastard, then so are you."

"Are you going to tell me why you pulled me away, or just continue making me mad?" Ichigo snapped as he turned to face the source of the voice.

"Now how, in the name of all things living and deceased, am I to know whether you're sufficiently pissed? I can't see your face under that hood." Ichigo glared at his brother, who was lounging on the tiny bed proved by the inn. He knew Shiro could tell what he was feeling, whether he expressed them or not. He also knew his brother loved pissing him off when he was feeling especially superior. "Besides, if you weren't so uncomfortable talking to me in a civilized manner in front of other people, I would have just blurted my news out earlier, and we wouldn't be having this issue."

"What news?"

Shirosaki pouted. "What? Still no 'hello, brother, good to see you again'? Why do I get stuck with someone who shows no appreciation for what I put myself through for them?"

"Shiro, I'm cold and my patience is wearing thin. The tournament was a joke, if I ever saw one, so I barely got any real practice, either."

"I saw that. Dancing in the last fight, Ichi?" Shiro shook his head. "If you keep testing your skills against such weak opponents, you'll get rusty in no time. Master Tensa's efforts will be wasted on you, and our goal will never be achieved."

"I know that!" Ichigo snapped. "But I got to spar against Renji, and I got the money to pay for another night here, the debt for my apprenticeship, and the rest can go into our savings."

"Renji? You think he's good enough? He has only managed to beat you once, and has only been falling further and further behind. Shuuhei might have been a better option, if he weren't such a stiff."

"He doesn't like to fight without cause, Shiro. You know that." Ichigo frowned at his brother. He understood why the other was so upset by his decision to enter Lord Maxam's little competition, but Tensa was out at the war, and they needed the money if they ever wanted to succeed. He was hoping he'd find someone new to spar with, but that was a complete failure. "Are you going to tell me what was so urgent you put me through an internal ice storm, or what?"

Shirosaki had never held such a huge grin on his face as he paused for dramatic effect. Ichigo scraped together what little patience he had left in his system, and waited for him to finish being a moron. "I found them."

Three simple words.

Three simple words were all it took for Ichigo to go from irritated to surprised and excited. Six long years of training under Swordmaster Tensa were finally going to be put to the test.

"Where? How?" Ichigo could barely contain his eagerness, but Shiro could feel it radiating from him like tidal waves.

"Being me, I found their camp along the western border, after over-hearing some conversation about them. I could hardly mistake their flag, flying so high and proud, or the face of their leader. How he still lives is a mystery to me, but I'm not complaining."

"How far is it to the next town?"

"Close enough that if we leave soon, we'll make it before nightfall."

"Then what are we waiting for? We have raiders to hunt!" And with that, Ichigo was sent into a flurry of movement. He gathered up some clothes, his purses, and a few extra items, stuffing them into a travel bag as he went.

"You are far too eager for someone who is about to go on a killing spree."

* * *

**A.N. Please REVIEW! I love hearing people's opinions, so let me read them. I don't care if it's a positive or negative review (actually I do if it makes me feel like you're just being mean…) so just take the thirty seconds of your life to give them to me, please (puppy-dog eyes)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Made some corrections on the previous chapter. Thank you for waiting so long for me to get this up. I hope it was worth it...**

_Silence fell between the two, as they watched the water from the river rush past them, carrying their leaf-boats with it._

_"Hey, Shiro?"_

_"Yeah?"_

_"Do you smell something?"_

_"No. Why? What do you smell?"_

_"I don't know." There was a scream in the distance. Both boys, almost identical in appearance, yet complete opposites, turned to the source, eyes wide._

_"What-?"_

_"Shiro!"_

_Shiro fell the ground, an arrow sprouting from his shoulder. On top of the hill, a horse reared to kick at a villager. He, too, fell back, and then was trampled._

* * *

Renji was elated. He never, in a million years, thought this would happen to him. Dragons would return to the world before this, in his mind.

And yet, it still happened. There was not a fire breathing dragon in sight. Renji couldn't possibly be happier.

"Well, I'll be," Shuuhei said. He was grinning like a madman. He gave his friend a clap on the shoulder. "Ha! Congratulations, Red! Who knew you'd be the first?"

Renji beamed up at the other man from where he sat at the table, in the seat he had kicked Shuuhei out of only minutes before. Rukia sat across from him, smiling pleasantly, glee in every feature.

"If I had known it would only take a couple of drinks to get him to ask," she laughed. "I would have bought him the drinks myself!"

Shuuhei pushed the red-headed man over on the bench and sat across from Rukia. Renji, drunk to the point where he had lost his inhibition, but not so much that he angered easily, nearly fell off, but righted himself before hitting the floor. Shuuhei chuckled at him as he reached for his cup. Rukia, being the type to make any bright moment brighter, shoved her foot under one of Renji's own, the pulled up. The man fell over from the unexpected force. They laughed some more.

When the laughter died down, and Renji had clambered back onto the bench, they were quiet. Shuuhei sipped his drink, feeling like an outsider as the newly betrothed stared at each other. To him, they were in a bubble of candlelit happiness. He wished Ichigo were with him. He'd at least have someone to converse with. But their friend had left suddenly, and was unable to even meet this woman, who had stolen the heart of their dear friend.

/Well, now that heart is locked away in her chest,/ he thought. /There is no way Renji will ever get it back./

It was true. The couple was obviously in love. Shuuhei saw that the moment they laid eyes on each other. He saw it in the way they looked at each other, smiled as the other spoke, the way Renji had introduced her to him. He was able to witness his friend in love, and not just in the flirtatious way he had been in in the past. The two had immediately started talking about everything and nothing, and after several hours, and a few drinks here and there, Renji had done the unthinkable. He, the well-known philanthropist, had asked Rukia Kuchiki to marry him.

Shuuhei was proud, but a little depressed. He and Renji had known each other longer than he could remember. He never thought the other would ever find happiness in this form, since he was never one to see the same woman twice. And yet, there he was, engaged! And more than happily so. Shuuhei couldn't not be proud of him, and yet, he was alone. Ichigo had joined them a number of years back, but he always held something back from them. He was never all the way /there/. Sure, he was a wonderful friend, loyal and honest, but that wouldn't be enough to cover up the inevitable loss of his oldest friend.

"My lady," Shuuhei bowed to Rukia. "Renji, I'll be heading back to the inn. You two probably have more than enough to talk about without me being in the mix, and I'm pretty tired. Goodnight, to you both."

Rukia stood and embraced the man. "It has been a pleasure meeting you. I wish you well on your walk back."

Renji just lifted his hand in a waving gesture, and went back to his conversation with Rukia. Shuuhei made his way through the drunkards and past the bard, singing a ballad no one was listening to.

It was not long at all before the dark haired man was back at the inn. He greeted the innkeeper, then made his way up the stairs to his room. He had a mind to knock on Ichigo's door, to tell him about the night's excitement, but he stopped, fist raised. Who was he to tell Renji's big news? He did not have that right, and nor did anyone else. Renji will tell him as soon as he is able, Shuuhei was sure, and he would want it to be a surprise. He chuckled as the scene played out in his mind: Renji delivering the news, Ichigo not believing it, a short scuffle because of Renji's easily injured ego, and then laughter and celebration. With that in mind, Shuuhei knocked on his friend's door, if only just to wish him a good night.

Nothing happened. Not a sound was made on the opposite side of the door. He knocked again, and again there was nothing. Ichigo was a light sleeper. No, he was lighter than light, unless he was sick or drunk. Shuuhei's admittedly loud knocks should have been more than enough to wake his friend. Frowning, Shuuhei put his hand on the knob, and turned it slowly. If Ichigo was sick, Shuuhei wanted to know it. He did not fancy the idea that his friend was suffering while he slept off a few drinks.

The room was shrouded in a dark veil, the lamp-light from the hall and a few silver beams the only light. But that was all the man needed to see that his friend was not in the room. Shuuhei allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness. That done, he surveyed the room for any clue as to where the other might have gone. He found it on the small, round table, under a coin purse. The parchment was folded into fourths, each square lopsided and hardly being worthy of being called "square". They were more like...trapezoids.

Shuuhei knew he was focusing on this small detail to distract himself from the words written on the parchment in hastily drawn letters. He put the letter down, already knowing what it said, and yet, knowing nothing at all. Ichigo couldn't have left. He simply couldn't have. It was impossible. They, the three of them, were going to stay together until their teachers returned from the war. Then, they would continue their studies, their antics, and then, someday, take their masters' places when they grew old and no longer fit to continue. This was the image Shuuhei had in his mind. This was the path he had laid out for himself. The three of them.

no. It was possible, highly likely, even. Thinking back to the first time he and Ichigo had met, Shuuhei had no doubt, even if he wanted to believe otherwise.

* * *

Raining. It always rained. The clouds blocked out the sun, and the sky cried tears of sorrow at the grief of all creatures. It was always so depressing; a reminder that the world suffers. Shuuhei never much cared for it, but he understood the importance. Like Kensei had once told him, and still often does, "rain is the symbol of the world's negativity and corruption. It lets us know when the world has gotten so rotten, and when The Goddess has noticed such pain. Always see the rain as a message, read it, listen to it, and find a way to fix it so the rain can stop before a flood begins. It is my hope that someday, the rain will no longer symbolize pain, and give drink to our crops through suffering, but become one of prosperity, like it was before the gods put humans on this earth."

Shuuhei had often thought about those words, and now, watching the rain, he wondered what grief had made The Goddess cry. Surely there were many. Creatures died, hearts broke, and people were hurt every day. But what was the final nudge that sent The Goddess into tears? Shuuhei could only guess.

It was a holiday, meaning Shuuhei didn't have any training or duties to attend to other than the daily puzzles and questions his master gave him to strengthen his mind and to train him to think in several different ways. He had finished those and was free to do as he wished. He tugged his boots on, laced them up to the top, and ran outside. He stood in the street, allowing the rain to come down on him. He tried to discern the cause that way, at first. It didn't come to him.

Shuuhei then took to wandering the roads. His feet carried him from place to place, past bakeries, book shops, armouries, a tailors. He waved to anyone looking out the window, and they waved back. Eventually, he noticed that less and less windows were open, the cobblestone road less even. The houses began to show age and people, instead of being indoors with fires, were lines along the buildings, huddled in overused clothing. Dogs roamed, ribs showcased under flesh and fur. Cats were caked in mud and tried to stay out of the rain by curling up under anything. He blinked, realizing he was in the poorest part of the city, Insolvent Sepulcher.

Shuuhei wanted to turn around. He did not belong among these people. He may have once, but not anymore. He should not be wandering streets so packed with memories so grim. He was safe from having ever to return. Kensei had seen to that, had he not?

Shuuhei could not turn. His feet weren't wanting to go anywhere but straight, and straight they went. The child walked until the road stopped and was replaced by a wall. There, he turned left and made his way along it. He knew where he was, having been born here, but not where he was going. He just knew he had to keep on walking. His hand trailed along the comforting solidity of the stone as he went. Never once did the boy look behind him, not even as he felt several eyes trailing him, or heard the footsteps failing to be discreet. He did not want pursuers knowing he was aware of them. That would only make them violent. He was not a stupid kid. He knew that if that happened, he would be easily killed and they would not even blink an eye. Here in the Sepulcher, dead children were commonplace. Killing was even more so. No, Shuuhei would not confront them head on. He would have to find some other way to get them to leave him alone.

A plan forming in mind, Shuuhei took off suddenly, delving deeper into Insolvent Sepulcher. His pursuers ran after him, but he had trained hard every day and their own malnourishment made them slower. He gained distance until he deemed himself far enough away. Then, he turned and bent toward the ground until his hands were hovering just above it shoulder length apart. Nothing happened at first, and the pursuers, five of them, four older boys and a girl, tried to close the gap between themselves and their prey. Slowly, the muddy ground took its toll and they began to grow tired. Their feet sunk deeper and deeper with each step until they were ankle-deep. That was when Shuuhei made his final strike. He crossed his hands in an x-shape and hit the ground with his palms. Seemingly, that was all he did before standing and walking away, as calm as a lion in its own den. Yet the moment one of the five tried to move, they were paralyzed. Scared, they screamed and screamed until, tired, Shuuhei released his spells and they were free to scamper off.

To his right, Shuuhei heard a soft chuckle. He started. How could he have walked right by a person without even noticing his existence? A year back, he would have never been able to do such a thing. He was truly no longer a Sepulcherian.

"That was funny," Shuuhei heard the voice say. He could not see the face of the boy, but from the shadows, he could see he was young, maybe as young as himself, and wearing cleaner clothes than others who lived in the area.

"What was?" He couldn't see how scaring people was funny.

"How you did that. I don't see why you did it, when with the speed you were running at, you could have easily lost them, but I can appreciate a good magic show. Though, I like flashy, like lightening, maybe, or claps of thunder." Shuuhei could tell the boy was being honest, and he liked that. He could also tell the boy had a point. He could have outrun them, more easily than anyone probably knew. So why hadn't he?

"You're right. I should have just run away," Shuuhei admitted. "But I didn't, and the gods will probably punish me for thinking it was alright to do something like that to people who had yet to do me wrong."

"It's possible." The boy nodded, but there was something in his voice. Before, it was light-hearted and amicable. Now, now it was dark and gloomy. It threw Shuuhei for a loop. "But then, they don't really care for reward and punishment. They like us to take care of things ourselves, instead." Defeated. That was the word. His voice was defeated. "You're not from here, are you?" He asked.

"I am. Or was, at least. I was taken in by my master a year, or so, ago. I was born here but you look newly-come." Another chuckle.

"I have been here for five months." Shuuhei's eyebrows shot up. Five months and he was still looking so clean? A day or two, the apprentice could have believed. A week, sure. A month was pushing it. But five? He found himself unable to believe it.

"Did you steal those clothes? Or scrape up enough money to buy them?" he asked, searching for explanations.

"No. These are still the same smelly garments from my lost home. I've washed these a few times, though."

_Thank you for the explanation, _Shuuhei thought. If the boy hadn't provided one somehow, the unasked question would have driven him mad.

"What's your name?" the apprentice asked. There was a long pause.

"Why do you want to know?" The defensiveness was clear as day.

"It was only a question. I just want something to call you so I'm not referring to you as 'the boy' in my head." Another pause.

"It's Ichigo. Just Ichigo. Who're you?"

"Shuuhei Hisage. Nice to meet you Ichigo." Shuuhei smiled and held out his hand to the bo-to Ichigo. As Ichigo's hand came out of his small shelter to clasp his, Shuuhei noticed the rain did not fall on his hand, like it did everywhere else. This boy was either repelling the rain with magic, though Shuuhei sensed none coming from him, or he was the one for whom The Goddess wept. When Ichigo's face came out of the shadows, smiling weakly at him, Shuuhei noticed the rain let up just a little.

Whatever burden Ichigo held on his shoulders was, it must have been big. Big enough to get The Goddess to cry for him. Such a great sorrow usually sent people to suicide or self harm, but Ichigo stood there, smiling at him. It was a kind smile, but was also reserved and guarded, as though he was afraid it was going to be stolen from him.

And that was when his brilliant idea struck. He could convince Kensei to help this boy, too! If he could, then this boy would have at least a brother in him.

But how? Shuuhei thought about it for a moment. Ichigo might not like the sneakin-oh-now-he's-here-so-here-he'll-stay approach, but asking Kensei without the face of the one he'd be helping would be like throwing a rock into a lake and expecting it to fly.

"You want to come live with me?"

* * *

Shuuhei rubbed his face with his hands. Over the years, he had allowed himself to forget the grief his friend had carried. Now, it was back in full swing. Shuuhei shook his head and put the note back on the table. He grabbed the coin purse, before leave the room to return to his own.

_I'll tell Renji in the morning, _Shuuhei thought. Then he climbed into bed and fell asleep.

* * *

**Hey all! Thank you for reading this. It means the world to me. If you want the full-blown explanation as to why this update is so inexcusably late, let me know. Otherwise, I'll just leave the explanation to "lost files, inaccessible data, and emotional break down." Yup, sums it up quite nicely, neh? Any way, REVIEW, because I like them :) And let me know if you have questions, something was unclear, or if I made a mistake somewhere. Thank you!  
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	3. Chapter 3

**Hey guys! Guess what? Two updates in a week! It's a miracle! And you want to know what else? Grimmjow finally shows his face! Woo!**

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"_Which of us do you think will be the next?"_

"_I don't know. Why would I know? I hope it's me, though."_

"_I do, too. You're better than I am."_

_Silence fell between the two, as they watched the water from the river rush past them, carrying their leaf-boats with it._

_"Hey, Shiro?"_

_"Yeah?"_

_"Do you smell something?"_

_"No. Why? What do you smell?"_

_"I don't know." There was a scream in the distance. Both boys, almost identical in appearance, yet complete opposites, turned to the source, eyes wide._

_"What-?"_

_"Shiro!"_

_Shiro fell the ground, an arrow sprouting from his shoulder. On top of the hill, a horse reared to kick at a villager. He, too, fell back, and then was trampled._

_The orange haired boy stood frozen above his brother, as the other shouted for him to run._

* * *

It was still early when Ichigo awoke. Every limb ached, but that was nothing new, nor was it unexpected. He and Shiro had travelled to more than just the closest town the night before. They had walked through _three_, eager to get to their destination as swiftly as possible. The moon had long since risen before they decided to stop and find a place to sleep.

Ichigo cracked one eye open then squeezed it shut immediately. The rising sun all too happily shone into his face, blinding him and adding to his misery. He found the strength to move one arm over his head, so the crook of his elbow protected him from the rays. He slowly fell back into the numbness that was his most pleasant sleep.

A coldness raked through him. Ichigo's eyes snapped open, ignoring the sunlight, and he began to search for the cold's source. He found him sitting at the table, a smirking that smug smirk of his. Beside him was the cloak Ichigo had mistakenly thrown off in his sleep, obviously thinking he was too warm.

"Wakey wakey," Shiro cooed. "The sun is up, the birds are chirping, and there is revenge to be had."

"I don't hear any birds," said Ichigo through gritted teeth, as he shivered violently.

"Ah, well, that's because you don't listen."

"Can I have my cloak back?"

Shiro shook his head, pouting, while he replied, with all the sincerity of the world, "but, my dear little brother, I never get to see your face when you wear that thing. It's all but rags, since you wear it so often."

"I keep that cloak in good condition!" Ichigo bit back. "You just like seeing me suffer, don't you." Through the bond they shared, Ichigo felt Shiro's mood make the almost imperceptible shift from playful to wicked.

"Watching you suffer is fun, I'll admit, especially when your face gets flushed from the cold and you start to lose yourself in anger." Shiro came closer, intensifying the cold as he did. He reached out to touch his brother's cheek.

"I hate you." The swordsman flinched away from the frigid touch out of reflex. He maneuvered around his brother's form and grabbed his cloak, tugging it on and securing it.

"You love me. I make your life interesting and give it purpose."

"You annoy me, is what you do."

"But, I'm useful. Who else would remind you to eat?" Right on queue, Ichigo's stomach grumbled in protest at being neglected. "See? Grab your things and let us find you some food."

The brothers left the inn they were staying at, thanking the owner for allowing the room to be rented out so late at night. Ichigo stumbled through the streets on stiff legs, following his nose to the nearest bakery. Luckily, most bakers started the bread early so that people, like Ichigo, who were up with the sun, could have it freshly baked. The redhead bought enough bread to last him through the day, plus a little extra, just in case they got held up. He hated to be hungry.

Food shopping done, the pair began to made their way to the main road. Beyond the few whose lifestyles required an early rise, the brothers were the only ones in the streets. Ichigo allowed his tired mind to wander. When he finally saw those murderous raiders again, would he break his promise? Would he be able to keep his mind focused? What if he, after six years of training, still isn't good enough to complete his task?

Ichigo felt something hard ram into his face. A peel a laughter split the air, courtesy of Shiro. He stumbled backward a step, startled, and looked past his hood to see what he had run into. What he saw was not a what, but a who. Well, a piece of a who. The shoulder Ichigo had face planted into turned with the body it was attached to.

"Are you looking for trouble?" Ichigo heard. He peered at the other person. The man was taller than him, much taller, and had a shock of electric-blue hair on top of his head. It took Ichigo a moment to realize his cerulean eyes were not harboring shadows, but were actually accented by light blue eye paint. He was dressed lightly, too lightly for society, but Ichigo supposed that society would only reject his fashion sense due to jealousy. Why jealousy? First, it was blazing in the middle of summer, even in the early mornings. Second, because not everyone can have muscles like this man's.

"My apologies. My mind was preoccupied," said Ichigo, smoothly. He really didn't want to delay the end to his quest further by provoking a brawl with a man, whose temper was less pleasant than his own.

"Tch! A man whose head is not aware is a man dead, in this world," the stranger said in a condescending tone that did not go unnoticed by either brother. "A man not accounting for everything is a man far less likely to live another year. Who wears a heavy, hooded cloak in the middle of summer, anyway?"

"Someone who would rather not walk around half naked," Ichigo shot back, remembering to keep his voice calm. He had gotten used to folks needling him about his choice of heavy clothing, no matter the weather, so it no longer held a visible effect. If anything, the swordsman was perturbed by his own lack of diligence in watching his surroundings. The stranger was right. By all means, if an enemy of any level had been near, chances are he'd be dead, or at the very least, injured, because his mind was occupied with worries, which will not come to pass until the future. Thankfully, the blush Ichigo could feel on his cheeks from such an error was hidden quite nicely by the shadows of the offended cloak. He truly did love this cloak.

Ichigo walked around the man, continueing on his path and ignoring the Blue's protest at being ignored. He didn't shout at the swordsman for much longer, preferring to continue his own journey. Shiro and Ichigo found a small delight in the mornings peace that followed the man's silence, but even that didn't last long. Soon after leaving behind the town, they stumbled upon a drunken duo.

"H-hey," one hiccuped, his face stumbling in front of Ichigo's. His breath reeked of vomit and alcohol. Ichigo recoiled. "You wouldn't happen to have any-hic-any any any...Is that a sword? I love swo-swords. I used to have a fine sword, fine. I used to pretend I was at-hic-war and swing it like I was hacking up some good-for-nothing northerners. Northerners. What a weird word. Northerners. Sounds like 'nothiners'. Northerners are nothiners!" He giggled to himself. "nobody'd call me a northerner. No sir. I'm far south-hic-south as they come. AND NO GOD CAN EVER TAKE THAT AWAY FROM ME! NO GOD!"

It was at this point the second drunkard waved his empty bottle into the air in front of him, singing, "No god, no god, no god to save us now. No god, no god, no god to damn us now. There used to be many gods, gods, gods. So many gods, gods, gods. Gods, where did you go?"

Shiro glared at the inebriated, sickened. The first continued to shout, his words becoming more hiccupping and unintelligible noise than words, while the other sang his made-up song. Ichigo stepped back, away from the pair, grateful for the breeze that side-swept their stench away, carrying unsullied breaths his way. Together, the brothers walked away, ignored by the drunks.

"That was...um..." In his ill state, Ichigo could not find a word to describe the experience. Shiro didn't need him to.

"Revolting. Even after everything I have seen, that was vial. People have lives to live and they're throwing it away to get drunk before the sun is at its peak." It seemed where Ichigo was slowly learning to let go of the incident, Shiro had his teeth sunk in and was not too keen on releasing the topic.

"I stopped caring what stupid people do," the swordsman replied.

"They at least can breathe, and eat, and fall in love, and have a life, and what are they doing? Getting drunk on the side of a road where bandits can easily slaughter their arses and take what they have. And the way they were spreading their repugnant scent all over you made me want to kill them, myself." Shiro was seething. Ichigo understood his anger, even shared some of it, but he saw no use in expressing it. Besides, even if he did, his brother was doing enough ranting for them both. Shiro's words continued on, never straying from this topic, until the sun met the highest point in the sky. Ichigo's stomach gave a low grumble, alerting him to the knowledge that he hadn't eaten yet, and it was noon. He stopped to grab the bread he had placed in the bag.

Unfurling the loaf from its wrappings, the swordsman sat down at the side of the road, where a cluster of trees provided a shady spot. He tore off a small chunk to eat, leaning back. Shiro sat beside him, closing his eyes as if to sleep. He relaxed, but remained alert. To only stop and be attacked would do neither him, nor Master Tensa, any credit to those long years of training.

A small chirp reached his ears, then a high whine. Ichigo looked up, and smiled. A small creature, no taller than the width of his hand, perched on a branch above him. Slowly, he tore off another small chunk of bread, this time holding it up in an offering. The creature glided down, alighting on his palm. It carefully grabbed to bread between his teeth, tearing it before eating.

Ichigo took this time to admire the thing. From its tiny black form, reminiscent of a wolf pup, with an ice-blue design, which glinted in the noon light, to the bird-like wings adorned with black and ice-blue feathers. It's furry body rubbed against his thumb, letting him know it felt softer than a rabbit. Childish glee overtook the orangette as he observed the creature. Shiro must have felt the sudden change in mood, because he send a glance in their direction.

"Careful, brother," cautioned Shiro. "Legend says the gohunihi waya can create mini ice storms if they think you're a threat."

Ichigo frowned at his brother's words, not taking his eyes away from the winged wolf. "You do that to me internally every day. I don't think there has been a day within the last six years in which I had not felt my blood freeze over." The gohunihi waya was almost finished with the bread, scattered crumbs falling from the palm. "Besides, that is only a myth."

"If you say so." The gohunihi waya was now finished and full. It let out a yawn, showing its sharp, tiny teeth. It stretched its wings, displaying the full design of the shimmering ice-blue markings. The sight captivated both brothers, who were left in wonder at the rare sight. Creatures, like this mini winged wolf, were only described in legends, which also told of dragons, mortals who became the sun and moon and stars, flowers that explode, and other ludicrous things. To actually see something like this was beyond hope. Yet, there the brothers were, staring at it and feeding it.

The gohunihi waya took off. Soon, it was above the reaches of the trees, hidden by their long arms and the leaves attached. Ichigo sat there for a few more moments to absorb fact that he had indeed just encountered a legend, before standing once more and returning to his journey.

The duo trekked for several more hours, passing through two towns, but not stopping. The road, once cobblestone, then hardened dirt, was becoming softer as they travelled, morphing into a sandy path as the terrain changed from the lightly forested lands of Seireitei, to the desert lands of the Eastern border that lined Hueco Mundo. Only, on this hot summer evening, soft snow alighted on the earth and accumulated in cracks and around rocks. Confusion settled inside Ichigo, and then fear. He knew this snow, for it was not snow at all.

He looked up and searched the horizon for any sign he might be right, while hoping he didn't find any. He did. About a mile ahead, the sky was dark, as though thick clouds hovered there. Only clouds did not move upwards and disperse so quickly. That was smoke.

Ichigo took off at a run, his brother following behind him. They reached the town, or what was left of it, and started to look for anything or anyone that could be salvaged.

After several hours of a fruitless search, Ichigo fell to his knees, physically and emotionally drained, and threw up his small lunch. He had walked/jogged/run through the entire town, having to step over and around the bodies of mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts, dogs, and the no longer recognizable. Memories of the faces of the dead here and of the faces of the dead from six years ago became one in his mind, flashing continuously in an endless loop. His own mother's face came up, lying next to his father's, and then there was a stranger's, whose face he had seen among the dead here. The cycle repeated.

Coughing.

Ichigo's head snapped up. He waited, still as an alerted deer, and listened. Nothing. Had he imagined it?

Cough, cough.

No, he hadn't. This time, he determined the general direction of the coughing. He stood slowly. His head spun, but he pushed through it. He had to find a survivor. He had to. Or maybe it would be better if he didn't.

_No_. He stopped that thought almost as soon as it started to form. _People are strong. Pain can only make us stronger. This survivor, if they truly are just that, would have a chance. Who am I to deprive them of that? _

He followed the coughing to a collapsed building, its support system sticking up out of the ground like a foreboding omen, the charred wood still on fire. He circled the home-he assumed that's what it was, at any rate-and found a small entrance. He ducked inside, crawling on all fours.

Inside, he was blinded and choked by smoke. His lungs burned and his eyes watered. His cloak helped protect his skin from the heat of the flames. He pulled one sleeve of it over his hand, and pressed the fabric over his nose and mouth. It lessened the pain, but not by much. It did nothing to cool the air, but at least the air he did get was cleaner. Another beam fell, missing his foot by mere inches. It sent up sparks, but also allowed Ichigo to see a small path where he could push his body through. He did so, careful not to bump any of the beams. They already looked perilously close to collapsing down on him.

He coughed into his sleeve, and heard it echoed. He did it again, and the same thing happened.

"Hello?" He called, then erupted into a fit of hacking and coughing. He listened, and heard a tiny, weak cry. He followed it, edging along the floor until he came across a closed chest, not yet touched by the flames. He tapped it and heard a squeal, then a whine that later turned into a whimper. He had found the survivor. Now, all he had to do was get him/her and himself to safety. Easier said than done, with a building falling on all sides.

"Can you hear me?" Ichigo called. He heard a muffled "yes". "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm going to get you out of here. Just keep talking to me, OK?" No answer. "Did you hear me?"

"How are you?"

"My name is Ichigo. What is your name?"

"Nel."

"Alright, Nel. I'm going to get you out of here. How is the air in there? Is it hot, ashy?"

"It's hot. Nel hurts." That wasn't good. She needed to get out, and the sooner the better.

"OK, Nel. I'm going to need you to come out. I can't carry a chest while I'm crawling."

"NO! ITSYUGO WILL TAKE NEL! ITSYUGO WILL KILL NEL! NEL WON'T COME OUT!"

"Nel, listen to me. I will not bring you any harm. I want to help you, not hurt you. Will you let me do that?"

"No! Nel doesn't trust Itsyugo!" Ichigo coughed hard into his sleeve. His chest was starting to hurt more, and the longer he stayed in this building, the worse it became.

"Oh, for the love of-! Nel, I swear on my life that I will not hurt you intentionally."

"Itsyugo promises?"

"Yes. I promise." A crack appeared under the lid of the chest, and big eyes peered out. They inspected his soot-streaked face, and seemed to approve of what they found, because sure enough, a small girl crawled out of the chest and laid along the swordsman's back.

"Giddy-up, horsey!" Nel shouted, before coughing again. Ichigo rolled his eyes and moved in the direction from which he came. His path was still clear, which was a blessing if he ever saw one, and he and Nel made it out. Immediately, the girl-child inhaled deeply, gulping in as much air as she could fit in her lungs. Ichigo did the same, and they both started coughing so much they were streaming tears.

In the outside, no longer completely blinded by smoke, Ichigo saw Nel fully. Her light grey eyes were wide and innocent, filled with the kind of trust only a child could have. She wore a tattered green gown, that was even worse than the rags Ichigo remembered seeing years ago, when he was on the streets of Insolvent Sepulcher. Her skin was burned in places, making him wince, and her green hair was matted and streaked with the dark crimson of dried blood that came from a long cut on her head. He hissed, and reached out to her, simultaneously pulling out a water skin and a small vial from his bag.

"Drink some," he ordered. She did so greedily, not breaking for air until the skin was almost empty. She handed it back to him. "Feel better?" Nel nodded. "Good. Now, I am going to close this cut and heal your burns. It will sting a bit, because this will also clear out any impurities in the wounds. Fair warning." Carefully, to minimize pain, Ichigo poured the contents on the vial on the head wound first, then the burns. Nel cried out at the sharp pain Ichigo knew well, because he had spent years growing accustomed to the healing methods used whenever he, Renji, or Shuuhei was injured during training. He rubbed the child's back in a comforting gesture, and Nel snuggled into his chest, whimpering until the pain went away. She fell asleep like that, Ichigo leaning against a well with her on his lap, fists clenched tightly around clumps of his filthy cloak.

That was how Shiro found them. "Who's the brat? A rescue?" Ichigo nodded, not wanting to speak and wake the kid. "Then she is the only one. I found no one alive, or capable of being saved." Ichigo met his eyes, and looked away. Shiro had found others alive, but were most likely nine-tenths of their way to their deaths, or trapped to where Ichigo could not get to them without dieing in the process.

Tears filled his eyes. How could he have been so useless as to come across a burning village and only be able to save one person? Had he not spent the last six years of his life training to be strong, to be able to protect? Had all that effort been wasted on him? He was no more useful than he was six years ago!

Shiro felt the frustration, the grief, and the self-loathing emanating from his brother, and decided he had to put a stop to it before he started blaming himself for the break-out of a plague a century before he was born.

"Ichi, look at me." The redhead did not. "Please? King, look at me, that's all I ask." His honey-glazed eyes met his brother's melted golden ones in surrender. "Don't do this to yourself. Don't go back into that darkness. I need you in the light. Let me be the one who feels useless. Don't go blaming yourself for things out of your control. You aren't a god: you can't do everything. You can't help everyone. You help as many as you can, and accept that some are beyond your reach, and that's not something you, or anyone else, can change. Look in your arms. This girl needs you now, whether you like it or not, because you saved her life. You saved her, Ichi. She is alive because you were able to do that for her. Don't go moping about because you couldn't save everyone. You saved her life, so focus on that, and be proud."

Ichigo allowed the sense of Shiro's words to sink in. He was right, after all, as he usually was, but could he really let go of the fact that he failed so many? No, of course not. He knew that, Shiro knew that. But he could either beat on himself and abandon Nel in the process, or he could focus on helping Nel, and move on. It was obvious which choice was healthier.

The swordsman stood on shaky legs. He will move forward, toward his goal. He will not fail his family a second time, and he will find this girl a home and a new family. He could cry later. Now was the time to act.

Shiro watched his brother, feeling his determination and his own pride swell. Ichigo was a brother he could be proud of, but he would be damned twice over if he ever told him that. As the redhead started to walk, he followed, smiling to himself.

_You really are growing up._

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**I hope you all weren't too disappointed…I swear he'll show up more! He has to, doesn't he? This story will become a very heavy grimmichi as the story progresses, but as I had said before, I'm more of a story person, so I'll focus on that and try to weave the grimmichi around the plot…actually, the grimmichi is would pretty well in there, with the way I have it all planned out…**

**REVIEW! Tell me how I'm doing! If you find mistakes, have questions, or just want to say hi, leave a review because they make me happy! In the meantime, I'll just start on the next chapter as I also focus on schoolwork, and the APs…fun stuff, you know?**


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